


In the End

by gracemorgan



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Episode: s06e13 Not to Be (2), Gen, Introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-26
Updated: 2016-03-26
Packaged: 2018-05-29 07:23:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6364750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gracemorgan/pseuds/gracemorgan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Methos dwells on Macleod's last words on the barge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the End

‘I don’t know what you are,’ Duncan had said, and when all the rest of his overdramatic speeches had faded in memory, it was that Methos remembered most. What. Not who. What. As if he was some strange alien thing. Some inhuman thing that walked among the children and could never be like them. Yes, maybe he felt like that sometimes. Most notably when the disaster in Bordeaux had finally settled. Sometimes he felt so old. Positively ancient. He was older than the five thousand, older by far, but that didn’t mean he was out of touch with the youth of today. Didn’t mean he couldn’t adapt and reshape his mind to the modern mores. What was disconcerting was that the highland brat couldn’t bend his mind to imagine that life really had been so different once upon a time. He shouldn’t have been surprised. Macleod’s stubbornness was only exceeded by that of his bullheaded elder clansman. But he was disappointed. Just a little. He’d hoped for better from the boy. And it hurt him, just a little.

Nothing serious of course. He never let anything affect him that deep for that long. But he’d hoped for better from the boy.

Macleod was gone. Richie was long dead. Amanda was off courting some whelp of a pre-immortal and avoiding the ghost of absent highlanders. And Joe, well Joe was as permanent as stone. Staying to tend bar while Macleod wandered the world. Oh, he’d have to make a report eventually, but after the amount of action that centred on Macleod of late, he’d be forgiven for taking a few months off. He had more than enough observations to fill several lifetimes of records and if truth be told, Methos wasn’t entirely sure that the Watchers wanted to pick at Macleod much more if they could help it. He was a man that changed things, and theirs was an organisation that teetered on the edge of extinction. Outdated procedures versus a stubborn refusal to stop. Sooner or later they’d fall one way or the other. Be destroyed or live to write another day.

And if they ended, well it wouldn’t be the first time. He’d seen them fall and rise and fall and rise again, over and over across the centuries. He’d seen them born (and it wasn’t exactly from the time of the first immortals, despite what they might claim. They’d missed that one by a few millennia to say the least,) and he’d see them fall. He was Death. On a horse or off, when all the children and their games were over, he would persevere.


End file.
